How to Raise a Dragon --The Imaginary Journal Series
by LarkspurLilMoon
Summary: I, Neries, find an egg in the forest one day, changing everything about my life. SafirGul, my timberjack teaches me about loving a dragon. Her and I, experience many adventures and lessons in friendship as we go through trials together, both with ourselves and with other people and dragons on the Isle of Berk (sorry the summary sucks)


**Chapter 1: The Timberjack**

I live on the Isle of Berk. Now, I know what you might be thinking. Dragon wars, killing, dragons stealing food, but not me. Not our family. We're not exactly _Vikings_. We don't live in the village. We live a little way away, in the forest, in a nice wooden lodge. We don't really get involved in the affairs of the village, and we mostly stay to ourselves. We do some of our own fishing and hunting, and have a little garden patch. The rest we go into town for, and buy and trade and sell. Everything was nice and simply, and we'd have our wood and fire and food when winter came. Life was simply, and lovely. The dragons usually didn't bother us. But then one day, it all changed.

I was out in the forest, walking, enjoying nature, drawing, and simply enjoying my free time. Then I found _it_. It was an egg. Not a little bird egg, but an egg as big as both of my fists put together. I knew immediately what this rough, grey egg was. It was a dragon egg. I went slowly closer, and I gently and curiously touched the egg, just barely. The egg began to glow. I backed off quickly. It looked like it was going to explode. But then it didn't. The glow died off and the egg just sat there again, plain and boring. I crept closer, wondering. I wondered if I could help the little dragon hatch. I know, I was supposed to despise dragons and all, living on Berk, but I still believed that all life was valuable. I wanted it at least to have a _chance_ to live. An idea formed in my head of taking the egg to a near dragon out-cropping where I was sure it would be seen.

I reached out and picked it up. The shell crumbled from my touch. Into my hands flopped a small baby dragon, it's golden wings limp and slimy. Horrified, I immediately set the dragon down. It had golden-colored scales, with black spines, claws (on the wings), and two tiny black horns. Its face and head were black, but the rest was a golden-red color, all of which looked harmless and tender at its young age, still being soft and young, its claws, horns, and spikes weren't sharp, and its scales weren't protective. It had very large wings, and no legs, just claws on its wings, like a bat. It must have been a Timberjack dragon, I thought, for I had read the Book of Dragons many times, whenever I was in the village. But it looked dead. Then I saw it was breathing. Why wasn't it moving? Opening its eyes? I poked the dragon gently, and a small, pitiful noise came from the tiny creature. I decided the best thing to do would be to would be to clean the guck off the dragon, and do what my original plan had been: Put it on a dragon out-cropping and get out of there. I didn't need a baby dragon to care for. I _shouldn't_ have a baby dragon to care for.

I picked up the dragon gingerly, slightly disgusted, and carefully set it down slightly outside our garden. I ran inside and grabbed a cloth, and cautiously wiped off its slimy body. I took it to a nearby cliff where I thought dragons might drop by and set it down, and just when I was about to turn and leave it there, it opened its eyes. It looked up at me. One eye was a deep blue, the other a fiery golden yellow-orange. Its large, black pupils looked up at me helplessly. It seemed to be asking, "You're just going to leave me here?" I froze in that stare. I knew all along there wasn't a good chance a dragon would come by. I knew that even if one did, it probably wouldn't want to care for offspring that was not its own. And I knew that, once night came, it would probably get too cold for a baby dragon to be able to heat itself. Its wings spread out around it, and it just kept staring at me with those two differently colored, intense eyes, set in its black face. I saw myself reflected in the two odd eyes, my brown hair waving and curling gently to my shoulders, my intense brown eyes shining back at those of the dragon, my slightly tipped nose, my freckles, and full, but not bloated, lips, pushed slightly forward in almost a question. I blinked my long dark eyelashes at those innocent, pleading eyes.

I knew then that I couldn't leave this baby to die. I also know that if the dragon were ever to be found, I would be shunned the rest of my life as a dragon friend, along with the rest of my family and we could starve due to lack of trading and help and the dragon would be caged, or killed. This was a huge risk. _But I don't mean to keep it forever. Just until it's old enough to fly, and join the other dragons_, I told myself.

I leaned down and tenderly scooped up the little dragon. I'd just have to hide it in my room for a few weeks, and then it should be able to fly, and I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. I slipped quietly back through the woods with the tiny dragon. I made it home, and slipped inside. Thankfully, no one came between me and my room. I slipped into my room, and hurriedly make a nest of little rags under my bed. "There you go," I said to the little dragon, setting her down. "Now, I'm only keeping you until you can fly. Then you have a fair chance and can fend for yourself," I told the baby sternly, who looked back at me with its two different eyes, wide, and intent. "Also," I stated, looking back at the dragon, peeking out from under my bed. "You are _not_ getting a name, I shall call you 'Dragon,' and that's _it_," then I mumbled to myself, "You'll probably eat me alive when you're old enough anyways. _Why_ am I doing this?" I asked myself, as I went into the kitchen to get the dragon food.

I grabbed some fish and meat, and slipped into the room and offer the dragon food. "Dragon" as I so deemed her, (I honestly don't know why I knew she was a girl—but somehow, she just was) tenderly tried to bite into the fish, before making a tiny wail sound, and slinking her head down on her wing's thumbs (which looked like bat thumbs) and looked at me sadly. She apparently couldn't eat it. Sighing, I knew what I had to do. She probably need it all ground up, as if it was regurgitated. What I didn't realize then, was that she was not a normal baby dragon. She was a lot weaker and would take a lot more work.

I walked back into the kitchen, to see my mom. "Hello," she said, smiling at me. I smile, trying not to look like I was hiding anything. She looked at the fish and meat in my hand curiously. "I just wanted a snack," I tell her, hoping she'll buy it. It doesn't take much; she nodded and continued on her way.

As soon as she left, I quickly minced up and ground up the food, gross fish and meat juice oozing everywhere, and took it back to the baby dragon. I tried not to look at her. The less association, the better, in my opinion. I heard her eat it all happily. Then, as if exhausted by the effort of being moved around and eating, she slumped her head down. Despite myself, I looked at her curiously. Did normal dragon babies act this way?

That night, I was fast asleep, until I heard a pitiful wailing noise. I woke with a start and looked around. The noise came again. Then I remembered: There was a dragon in my room. I lit the lamp next to my bed and looked around. Stuck underneath my drawing desk was the little dragon. She didn't look stuck, but she was _acting_ stuck. I helped her out, and "Dragon" slumped to the floor. I was seriously starting to wonder if little dragons normally did this. I quieted her down, and she calmed quickly as I held her in my hands. My heart warmed, but I silently and strictly quenched it. There was _no_ getting attached to this dragon. Our family would become outcasts from the village, and that could mean we would starve without being able to trade with them. I would let her go as _soon_ as she could fly. I tucked her back into her little bed, and pushed her slightly farther underneath my own bed. I thought about taking her out tomorrow to help her with wing strength. Maybe I could get rid of her sooner and save danger and time, getting rid of her.

The next morning, I woke and stretched. I looked under the bed, and my heart stopped. Panic choked me. She looked dead. I reached out and touched her. She barely opened her eyes at the touch, and her body barely moved with breath. She made the tiniest moan and "Dragon" closed her oddly matched eyes.

"No…" I whispered. "Dragon" couldn't die, not like this. I was supposed to give her a _chance_. My risk would be for nothing. I slipped back into the kitchen, and from our food store, I grabbed some milk we'd traded at the village. I poured some into a small bowl. I came back into my room hurriedly, and proffered the dish to "Dragon." She slowly stuck out her forked tongue and gingerly lapped it up. Then she closed her eyes again. I was beginning to think she was _not_ acting like a normal dragon should. I quickly minced up some more fish.

"Good morning," my dad said, as he looked up.

I froze, but then tried to act normal, "Good morning," I said, yawning like I normally would. He didn't pay much attention, thankfully. I walked as normally as I could back to my room, and gave the minced fish to "Dragon." She didn't even stir. Worried, I prodded her gently with my finger. She did not move.


End file.
